


Eyes of a Crow

by bipalium



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipalium/pseuds/bipalium
Summary: When Hajime Hinata started his practice, he didn't think that being a psychiatrist required becoming his patient's patient. Until a certain person changed his mind.





	

On the first day of his three-month long practice, Hajime stepped into the Hope's Peak Hospital in high spirits. Thanks to his dad, he was to be given more freedom than any of his groupmates could ever dream of, and even real patients.

Hajime was upbeat, cheerful and neatly brushed up. A single unruly bang refused to stay in place and protruded from the top of his head like a comical antenna. He wasn’t bothered, though.

“Good morning!”

He waved brightly to the nurse in his father’s – now his as well – office. The girl muttered a ‘good morning’ and blushed. Despite her countless bondages, she looked very pretty, and small imperfections like grease on her black hair or sickly crusts on her skin only added to her charm.

Lucky, Hajime thought to himself and watched her covertly as she rummaged through the shelves for the documents.

“Fill in these forms, please,” mumbled the girl and handed him a thick stack. But she released the hold before Hajime managed to grasp it, which resulted in papers falling out and scattering across the floor.

“Sorry, sorry!”

With an agitated face, she knelt to pick up the sheets. Hajime rushed to help, and their heads bumped, producing even more sorries, now from both parties. What a classic scene, he noted inwardly.

After resolving this small accident, the nurse – Mikan Tsumiki was her name – showed Hajime around. The psychiatry unit was located on the third floor of the five story building, which Tsumiki thought convenient.

“I’m glad it’s not higher. I tend to trip on stairs, and the elevator is so scary,” she said with a disturbing quirk of her mouth.

To Hajime’s surprise, personnel shared the cafeteria with patients. The menu was common, too.

“It’s to strengthen trust between doctors and patients,” explained Tsumiki with her finger raised.

“Will they trust me more if I stuff my mouth with this... mass?”

Hajime bent to look closer into the enormous pot with yellowish soupy mush. It seemed to have jellified on the open air. He winced.

“Don’t worry, all food here is healthy,” Tsumiki said. Somehow, her voice didn’t convey much confidence.

They were about to exit the cafeteria when a blue-and-pink haired girl in a vast robe ran into them at the doorway.

“Mikan!” the girl whined, throwing her arms around the nurse’s shoulders. Hajime’s brow rose at the two neurotically chattering; Tsumiki was ineffectively trying to pull the girl off herself while the other was clinging tighter to her and crying.

“Hush, hush, I’ll come before dinner,” Tsumiki told her with a yielding expression plastered on her face. The girl leaned to her chest and was now noiselessly whimpering, and Hajime made a hasty beeline to the lobby.

He was shown to the bathroom and the store room, also to a sullen guard who was evidently asleep at his large oak desk.

“Nekomaru-san is very strict. He doesn’t let in the doctors who are late or forget their passes, mind that.”

Hajime kept nodding and secretly admiring Tsumiki’s faint blush, and the nurse in her turn kept avoiding his curious eyes. Not without interest, he wondered if what seemed to be a D-cup was a real deal or a push-up.

“You don’t have any patients for today,” said Tsumiki at their parting in front of his office. “For now, you can arrange stuff and...” she cut herself off, and her eyes darted at him with a note of anxiety. She nervously laughed.

“It’s okay, I’ll figure it out.” Hajime did his best to smile charmingly, but Tsumiki only crept away, keeping close to the wall.

“I– I’ll be on a round!” she yelled across the corridor and started at the volume of her own voice. Chuckling, Hajime yelled back to make her feel less awkward and then returned to his office.

Now alone, he rubbed his hands and began unpacking. His books and notes went straight onto the desk for easy reach. A small maneki-neko he’d been given by a girl-crush back at school for his eighth birthday went under the PC monitor. With a minor sense of accomplishment, Hajime reached for his lab coat to put it on when a large shadow swooped behind the window. A hollow thud followed, and Hajime darted outside, alert.

He came running to the yard and ceased before a giant pile of trash bags. It was gathered right below his office window, and a self-evident human leg was sticking up from it.

Hajime’s panting stopped instantly, altered by enchaining dread. He approached the pile with apprehension and stooped to look at the injured.

However, the young man in the pile seemed to be more than alright. His chest heaved with shallow breaths and eyeballs ran behind his closed eyelids. There was no bleeding, none of his limbs were twisted, and Hajime let out a relieved sigh.

“You alright?” he interfered the guy’s odd calmness.

Perhaps he had lost his senses while falling, assumed Hajime as he squeezed through the bags. He inspected the guy’s face: bony cheekbones, chapped thin lips, not a single drop of blood adding color. His messy hair, swept aside from the fall, was pearly grey as of an old man. As Hajime wedged an arm under his back and knees and lifted him up, he realized a significant deficiency in weight. With a shift of the guy’s t-shirt, protruded his very prominent collarbones and upper ribcage. A scrawny arm slid off of his stomach and hung in the air as Hajime pushed out of confinement.

The guy threw his eyes open – dullest grey and watery they were. With a fair amount of disgust on his face, he wrestled out of Hajime’s bridal-style hold.

“Can you stand on your own?” asked Hajime, not letting go of his shoulder. The guy shrugged off his hand, and his knees weakened.

“I’ll see you to your ward.” Hajime slouched a little for the guy to lean on. The answer was a long bewildered look. With visible suspicion, he let his arm to be put around Hajime’s shoulders.

“What happened?” Hajime asked as they slowly strolled to the entrance.

“Nothing much,” the guy said, and Hajime peered at him with curiosity: his voice was tender and moderately deep, very pleasing to ears.

“Then how did you end up there?”

“I jumped off the roof.”

Hajime frowned at the guy’s light but eerie smile. Dull grey eyes looked cold.

“You’re a psychiatric unit patient, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” The creepy smile was gone, and now the guy seemed to be estimating Hajime. “You too?”

“No.” Hajime answered dryly. “I’m a doctor, actually. A trainee psychiatrist. My name’s Hajime Hinata.”

The guy abruptly ceased his steps, and Hajime faltered. The limp arm was gone from his shoulders, and the guy straightened. Vague superiority edged in his expression.

“My, my,” he said, “so you’re Dr. Hinata’s son. How old are you exactly?”

“Twenty two, why?”

“So young,” he muttered amusingly, as if he were decades older, in which Hajime couldn’t believe despite the grey hair. “Well, nice to meet you, little Hinata. The name’s Nagito Komaeda, if required.”

They shook hands – Komaeda’s fingers brushed icily against Hajime’s skin – and resumed their walk. Komaeda didn’t stagger or limp, undermining the possibility of concussion.

When they were passing by Hajime’s office, the guy suddenly propped a hand to the door frame and leaned into his personal space. Milky eyes watched with sinister intensity that oddly meddled with disinterest. Hajime swallowed.

“I love the likes of you,” mouthed Komaeda. Hajime froze, feeling for the door handle behind his back. “You all give me hope for the future. You’d better not disappoint me.”

And he leaned back, smiling innocently. Hajime exhaled and muttered a goodbye, throwing the door open and dashing inside.

Very soon he forgot about the eccentric young man, his nose deep in papers. The sun was overflowing the office with bronze when Tsumiki placed a fragrant cup of coffee on top of his desk. Happy with the gesture and attention, Hajime beamed at her, and she was not a little embarrassed. 

“By the way,” he asked as they were sitting on a couch with their hot drinks, “a patient fell from the roof this morning. Shouldn’t Nekomaru-san be making sure that nobody enters the area? He’s alright, but who knows what might happen.”

“Oh, that must be Komaeda,” muttered Tsumiki, her face darkening. “He simply loves giving doctors headaches. He believes that he has some peculiar luck and never gives up a chance to try it. Was he hurt?”

“Not at all. He landed on the trash bags, thankfully.”

She nodded, and her little pretty nose wrinkled.

“Listen, Hinata.” Now she sounded serious, her desperate eyes added to cogency. “Beware of Komaeda. He’s a weirdo and has been a nuisance to us all, including your father.”  

 

*******

 

The next morning Hajime wasn’t in high spirits: he stayed up late switching TV channels and slept through the alarm; his hair still refused to stay in place, not to mention that in a hurry he didn’t get to eat his breakfast. He decided to fetch a sandwich in the cafeteria.

It was quite crowded and noisy in there, although patients didn’t talk much. The rattling of spoons (forks and knives weren’t allowed) was filling the hall, and Hajime’s head started to ache.

He greeted Nekomaru, who then boisterously engaged a small talk with him. In the end of a three minute long conversation he already asked Hajime to jog together sometime. Such a cheerful guy, and Tsumiki claimed him strict? Hajime snorted tiredly and entered the office in a revived mood.

Which was instantly shattered. On the couch, where he and Tsumiki had been having coffee yesterday, with arms folded beneath his head, no other than Komaeda slept soundly. Hajime’s eyebrow rose at the outrage.

“What are you doing here?” he said curtly, shaking Komaeda’s shoulder. “Get up!”

Ever so reluctantly, Komaeda stretched out his arms and yawned.

“Oh, morning, little Hinata.” He blinked drowsily.

“Why aren’t you in your ward?” asked Hajime with a serious intention to yell at Komaeda if he continued taking the piss.

But Komaeda didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Not a muscle quivered in his face; he was perfectly calm, perfectly undisturbed by the fact of being caught doing something prohibited. Hajime folded his arms on his chest.

“Listen, I’m here to pass this goddamn practice, and I will do this without hindrance,” uttered Hajime coolly. “I don’t have time for your gags.”

“Gags?” Komaeda sneered, casually crossing his legs and getting comfortable. “I’m perfectly serious. People say I have good luck, but sometimes it doesn’t seem so to me. Like now; I thought that if I woke up and went away before you were here, I’d have a proof of it. Well, that was bad luck then.”

“Get out,” demanded Hajime and turned his back to him.

“I will, don’t worry,” Komaeda assured him. “But usually when bad luck happens, good luck comes right after.”

Perhaps it was a gust from the open window, but Hajime felt a very palpable sliding touch on the small of his back. He turned abruptly, tense, and started at a door snap.

But he didn’t stay bothered. As Tsumiki came and brought more papers, Hajime didn’t have time to reflect on anything but the nurse’s fragrant presence by his side. He stole glances while she was obliviously facing the window, and considered inviting her out for some coffee and cakes.

Oh no, but he still worked on the documents just right. Only that, his mind would drift away from the profiles whenever Tsumiki muttered something, tucked her hair behind her ear or derived a shy smile. Hajime smiled back like an idiot, happy to be there. Wasn’t he lucky? All of his groupmates were bored at labs and he’d got not only freedom but such a nice opportunity for a brush of romance.

“We should go on a round after lunch,” said Tsumiki as they descended to the cafeteria. Hajime nodded and barely caught her elbow as she tripped on a step.

“Be careful,” he said gently. With an awkward giggle, Tsumiki thanked him and withdrew from his infirm hold.

Contrary to Hajime’s expectations, the cafeteria was half-empty. Tsumiki explained that most of the patients preferred to have a nap at this time of day or had their procedures. He took boiled potato and what looked like sweet curry, frustrated with how vapid it was. Salt couldn’t be found anywhere either.   

Still somewhat hungry after the flavorless meal, Hajime parted ways with Tsumiki at the third floor (she went to do injections) and headed to the first door in the far end of the corridor. Its plate read 37110.

The room wasn't vast, with six plain beds – three of them empty. None of the heads turned to Hajime when he came in, and he made his way to the bed next to the window.

Two girls were lying together, one of them actually half-sitting with a portable game console in her hands. She didn’t even flinch at Hajime’s approach, her eyes fixed on the screen. He could hardly distinguish her face, partially hidden by a hood she was wearing. By her side, lay that same girl with crazy hair that had had a hysteria in Tsumiki’s arms yesterday. Now she was sleeping soundly, her nose buried in the playing girl’s side.

“Chiaki Nanami?” Hajime asked the girl in the hood. She reacted with a faint ‘uh-huh’, and Hajime made himself comfortable on the edge of the nearby bed.

“How are you today?” he asked, trying to sound as approachable as possible. Nanami didn’t respond; her fingers were nimbly mashing the console buttons.

“Nanami-san?”

“I’m fine,” the girl uttered without tearing her eyes away from the screen. She sounded feeble and drowsy.

Hajime clenched his hands awkwardly, leaning towards Nanami’s bed.

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked, checking her profile in his lap. “They have curry today.”

“Again,” she said with neither frustration nor excitement. How can anyone sound this impassive?

“Well, but the tea is alright. What’s your favorite food, by the way?”

For a second, Nanami looked him in the eye and then returned to her game.

“I don’t know,” she said.

The girl by her side stirred awake, yawning loudly – the next profile in Hajime’s possession read Ibuki Mioda, and by the lack of any other females in the room, he assumed she was the one.

“Good morning, Mioda-san.” Hajime tried to look friendly. Mid-yawn, Mioda flinched and stared at him.

“Is it morning already? Oh god, did I sleep this much?”

Her eyes widened, and she abruptly sprang up, knocking Nanami’s shoulder – she reeled slightly but didn’t pay any attention. In haste, Mioda crawled onto the bed Hajime was sitting on, hitting his knee with hers.

“It’s afternoon,” he said, skimming her profile. “Did you sleep well?”

“No! Where’s my shirt? Did you see my shirt? Fuyuhiko! Did you take it?”

She talked fast and shrilly, and Hajime decided to get up and make more room for her. Searching through her bed and drawer, Mioda ceased with eyes fixed on nothingness before her.

“I’ve lost it,” she muttered mournfully. Hajime squatted to look under the bed and picked up a crumpled piece of pink cloth, handing it to Mioda.

“Oh, thanks, Doc!” She beamed at him suddenly. “I slept well. What’s for dinner today? I hope they have those pickles from the other day, man, those were so nice! Where’s Mikan? Will she come?”

Bombarded by her shooting questions, Hajime kept nodding. He was quickly growing tired.

After a fruitless conversation where Mioda babbled randomly about her interests (which were music and fashion, self-evidently) and kept asking where Tsumiki was, Hajime decided to move on.

On the bed by the opposite wall lay an ill-looking skinny guy to whom Mioda had referred as 'Fuyuhiko'. And indeed, there was a profile of Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu.

“How’s the day been going?” Hajime asked as he sat on the edge of a very messy bed next to Kuzuryu. A peculiar reek of medicine hit his nostrils.

The guy didn’t turn to him, which Hajime had expected. In silence interrupted only by Mioda’s loud whispers to Nanami, he read the profile and frowned.

“Mind having a motion, Kuzuryu-san? The weather is nice today.”

No response.

“Kuzuryu-san, if you’d like, we could move you to another room,” muttered Hajime. “It might be a little tiring, um, like this.”

“It’s okay,” finally answered Kuzuryu. His voice was stronger than his slender frame suggested.

“As you wish,” Hajime said and lifted his head at the opening door: Tsumiki strode in and was instantly attacked by Mioda’s throttling hugs.

A professional nurse she was, Tsumiki gave everyone an injection, and very soon the room was overtaken by slumber; even Mioda seemed to have calmed down.

“Was Komaeda here when you came?” Tsumiki asked as they walked out.

“No, why?”

“Well, he belongs in this room. Actually, you were sitting on his bed just now.”

Hajime flinched at the shivers that crawled up his spine. Tsumiki laughed, but he didn’t see anything funny.

“I don’t remember seeing him in the cafeteria either,” uttered Hajime. Now borne with knowledge, he couldn’t get away from the weird smell that had clung to him when he sat down on that messy bed. He’d fancied some blood on the pillow back then but was too focused on Kuzuryu to pay closer attention and considered it dirt. Which it still might’ve been. Hajime shuddered.

“Let’s split and search for him,” Tsumiki suggested. Her lovely brow was twisted with concern.

So they did. First of all, Hajime headed to the roof while Tsumiki went to the inner yard – perhaps Komaeda was just taking a walk and not trying to kill himself. Yet a sinister premonition dwelled in the back of Hajime’s head as he ran up and down the stairs, checking every nook and cranny. Exhausted after such an intense jog – Nekomaru showed him a thumb up as he dragged by – he turned to the bathroom to wash his face.

There was unease, then crippling, shackling fear. Hajime groaned and rushed to the distorted figure of Komaeda: he was on his knees, head in the sink with running water, arms dangling idly in the air. With an effort, Hajime grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the sink. Komaeda gaped at him, then cracked a grin.

“Fuck,” Hajime briskly let go of him and stood up. His lungs were tight, heart thudded fast.

“What’s up, little Hinata?”

Komaeda straightened. It was obscure how undisturbed he was by the water running down his hair, his face and the scruff of his neck. Hajime tried to sustain calmness.

“I’ll kindly ask you to refrain from such dangerous actions,” he uttered through clenched teeth.

“Dangerous?” Komaeda frowned, pondering. “I was just washing my hair.”

“Not in that position, please.”

Komaeda leaned closer with curiosity, and his thin lips turned up in a surprisingly soft smile. A genuine glint of content slid in his dull eyes.

“Could it be that you were worried about me?” he asked, sounding pleased.

Before Hajime had a chance to come up with any objection, his hands were clasped in Komaeda’s freezing fingers. He tensed up and stared at Komaeda’s brightened face.

“I’m so happy,” Komaeda said gently, and not without alarm Hajime felt a light caress on the backs of his hands. “I was beginning to pass out and thought it bad luck – I could drown like this, I presume – but you came and rescued me. And not for nothing, but because you were worried! That’s so sweet, it might be the best day of my life.”

“Quit this nonsense.” Hajime sounded less strict than he intended, blushing up despite the blatant groveling of the praise.

“Ah,” Komaeda chuckled and let go of the hold, turning his back to him. Hajime sighed with relief. “You don’t believe me, but it’s okay. I’m used to this.”

Hajime calmly added manipulative behavior to his mental notes on Komaeda. He was about to leave when another clasp – now above his wrist – made him halt.

“I like you,” Komaeda said, his voice deeper and more serious. “You don’t hate me, do you, Hinata?”

Hajime inhaled. It had been too much.

“I don’t hate you, but I insist that you quit misbehaving. Go to your room, please; nurse Tsumiki will give you an injection.”

Komaeda’s languid features became radiant. Something tender was in his smile – he closed his paper-like eyelids whenever he smiled – and Hajime couldn’t help but smile back.

“I will gladly return and get an injection,” Komaeda agreed. “For a price.”

Hajime was about to protest, but contrary to his expectations, Komaeda merely walked away. He kept standing in the middle of the bathroom for a while, unaware of the water in the sink still running.

 

*******

On the weekend, Hajime was eager to invite Tsumiki out for coffee. Fortunately for him, she was as eager to accept the invitation.

As they met and strolled together, invested in a light chit-chat, Hajime admired her simple and stylish outfit. Tsumiki was pretty in her nurse uniform, but in a loose-fitting pastel pink dress and beige coat she looked as fresh as an April sunrise.

“That Mioda girl,” said Hajime while they were waiting for their orders. “She seems to like you a lot.”

“Oh, well.” Tsumiki flushed slightly, fingering a napkin. “She does. But I like all my patients equally!”

“How so?” wondered Hajime.

“They need me,” Tsumiki said in earnest. “I often look after them when Dr. Hinata isn’t around. They all are nice guys.”

“Even Komaeda?”

With shaky hands, she took the offered coffee from the waiter and almost dropped the cup, but Hajime managed to catch it. Their fingers brushed; Tsumiki looked at him with astonishment.

“Well...” she said, setting the cup on the saucer. “Komaeda might be troublesome, but he’s always so aloof. I bet he’s quite lonely.”

Hajime didn’t confide the bathroom accident with Tsumiki and placidly drank his coffee, admiring her subtle beauty.

The next working week began with a jog with Nekomaru, which Hajime soon regretted: the guy was a beast and ran so rapidly that Hajime couldn’t stand a chance to keep in pace with him. However, as a result, he felt pretty energetic.

When he stepped into the room 37110 and not a single head turned to him again, Hajime just beamed and confidently headed to Nanami’s bed. He wasn’t surprised to find her gaming; the only change was the lack of Mioda by her side.

“Good morning, Nanami-san,” he greeted her and tentatively sat onto the edge of her bed.  

Without any hint of protest, Nanami quietly returned the greeting.

After a short quiz, Hajime concluded that both present Nanami and Kuzuryu were in the same state of torpor and thought of bringing them croissants from the cafeteria.

“And where’s Mioda?” he asked Nanami.

“Ibuki went to eat,” she said.

“And Komaeda?”

For a second, Nanami averted her eyes from the screen and nodded at the bed opposite of hers. Hajime stooped to inspect: he hadn’t noticed that a nest of blankets was embracing the sleeping Komaeda inside.

With caution, he shifted a blanket from the guy’s shoulder: chalky skin was revealed to his eyes. It was cold to the touch as Hajime clasped his shoulder and shook him.

“He won’t wake up,” Nanami said.

“Why? Did he mess around the whole night?” Hajime chuckled amicably.

“No,” Nanami uttered without a particular expression. “He wouldn’t be able to even if he wanted. He’s been sleeping like a log for almost 24 hours after he took those pills.”

“Pills?!”

He hastily rummaged through Komaeda’s nightstand under Kuzuryu’s heavy gaze (Nanami wasn’t interested anymore) – nothing; he kneeled and looked under the bed, on the windowsill – still nothing.

“He was holding something in his hand,” Kuzuryu prompted reluctantly.

And indeed, an empty bottle was clasped in Komaeda’s weak fingers; sweating bullets, Hajime read _Nembutal_ on the sticker.

“Tsumiki!” he shouted, rushing out, “Tsumiki! Urgent reanimation, ward 37110!”

 

*******

 

The more Hajime was worried, the more he was angry afterwards. And right now, he was boiling with sizzling rage.

“Didn’t we agree that you’d stop putting yourself in danger?”

Komaeda stared at him uncomprehendingly. Reanimation appeared not to be required; Tsumiki succeeded in waking him up with an injection, and after some stomach purging and a couple of IVs, Komaeda was as good as new.

“But I only took a dozen pills,” Komaeda said feebly. “I’m hungry, can I have dinner?”

“Not yet. Why did you take them, and where did you get those pills in the first place?” Hajime asked bitterly. Komaeda looked even paler and skinnier than usual. “Don’t tell me you simply found them.”

“I simply found them,” Komaeda echoed. “In the yard. There were few pills, I kept them. And I couldn’t sleep at all on Saturday night, so by the morning I figured they might help.”

“They could’ve killed you, didn’t you realize that?”

Hajime had managed to force Nanami, Mioda and Kuzuryu out for dinner, but despite the current tête-à-tête he was speaking in half-whisper. A quite sullen whisper it was.

“I had tried taking more pills in the past,” said Komaeda, wistfully looking through the window. “This time I just needed some rest from... thoughts.”

“Thoughts?”

Sensing that it was time for his professional side to come out, Hajime sat down on Kuzuryu’s bed, clasped his hands together and leaned forward.

“You can talk to me about that,” he said, trying to sound a little more trustworthy.

For some time, Komaeda kept observing the unchanging image outside: quietly weaving willows, briskly flying crows whose scratchy roars were muted by the glass. The sky was painted lilac and crimson by the setting sun, but Hajime was willing to wait.

“I thought how lucky I was to have met you,” Komaeda finally said. “My entire life everyone judges me. I know you’re judging me too; you think I’m reckless. But I can feel that it’s different.” His milky eyes darted at Hajime and gripped his attention keenly. In the sunset rays, Komaeda looked as if he was wearing a red halo. “Hajime, do you care about me?”

“I do,” Hajime said firmly. Somehow he wasn’t doubting the righteousness of the reply.

“I am happy then.”

Komaeda closed his eyes, and a single tear trailed down his face. He was smiling again; this one was of a forest nymph dying in resignation: an ominous and beautiful one. Perplexed by the view, Hajime thought it necessary to provide comfort. Carefully, he placed his palm on Komaeda’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. He wasn’t expecting someone in such a state of serenity to swiftly sit up and wrap arms around his throat; the embrace was clutching, and Hajime was short of air. He froze, unable to either wrestle out of Komaeda’s hold or to hug him back.

“I’m so happy, Hajime.” Komaeda’s whisper brushed his ear. Hairs stood up on Hajime’s nape. “I’m so happy. Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

Most of all, he was scared. Komaeda wasn’t shaking, and judging by his voice he wasn’t crying either. But his grip was iron-like, and if Hajime were to move, who knew what could–

“Komaeda-kun, let me change your IV!”

Released from the grip, Hajime exhaled and sent a grateful glance to Tsumiki. She didn’t seem to notice, busy with pointing a needle.

At the end of the day, Hajime was sitting at his desk and gripping his own hair.

 

*******

 

“Do you like mashed potato?”

“Not really. The texture is weird.”

Hajime nodded, stuffing his face with said dish. It was awfully tasteless – everything in the cafeteria was. Komaeda looked about the slightly peopled room and leaned closer to whisper. Alertness was showing in his posture.

“Have I been behaving good enough not to be put into isolation ward?”

Hajime swallowed down the food. Indeed, a weird texture.

“To my account, you have,” he said, crossing his arms on the table. “I think I might convince fath– Dr. Hinata that it’s not necessary for now.”

“He didn’t seem assured a week ago.” Komaeda frowned. Hajime softly put a hand onto his shoulder, feeling the tension dissolve.

“He’s just worried about you, like everyone else.”

“He’s not.” Komaeda disagreed bitterly. “I know when people are truly concerned about me; this is not the case.”

Hajime knew it was not the case, yet a white lie sometimes saved him the trouble. Not with Komaeda, though.

“Nagito,” he muttered, looking into Komaeda’s grey eyes. “Don’t put much thought into this. The new medicine will fix your sleep schedule, and soon you’ll feel rested. Feeling rested in its turn helps you feel more relaxed; and because in your case the source of muscle tension is anxiety which leads to insomnia, relaxation is especially good for you. Say, have you been having any intrusive thoughts lately?”

It had turned out to be effective to talk with Komaeda daily during lunch. Although it separated Hajime from Tsumiki, whom Komaeda didn’t seem to trust enough, the results were quite satisfying.

“I have,” Komaeda said, fumbling with a piece of bread. “Not during daytime, but closer to nights.”

“And what are these thoughts? Mind sharing with me?”

He did have the results, but vagueness remained.

“You’re so caring, Hajime, it’s unbelievable.” Komaeda smiled absently to himself. “You know, meeting you feels like my biggest luck. I’m almost afraid of it.”

“Afraid of it?”

“Of the scale.” He picked up a spoon and twiddled it. “I used to think that my bad luck alternated with my good luck. Whenever something awful happened, it was always outshined by later fortune. I mean, not that I don’t miss my parents or my dog. Not that I still don’t meet that hideous kidnapper in my nightmares. But there used to be some balance – or at least it seemed so. But the thing is–”

Komaeda gazed at nothing in particular. Hajime waited patiently. People around them were getting up and heading back to their wards and offices; Nekomaru patted Hajime’s back with his giant palm on his way out.

When Komaeda looked back at Hajime, his eyes were wide with tiny blown pupils.

“The thing is,” he spoke faster, and Hajime tensed, “my memory doesn’t serve me right. I can’t remember the initial element of the chain. I don’t know whether it’s fortunate events that alter the unfortunate ones, or vice versa. I was quite sure that my luck compensated for every incident; now I’m not.”

He fell silent. His plate was still full, even the water in his glass was untouched. Hajime tapped his finger against the table surface.

“You’re focusing on the outcome too much,” he said. “You can’t change the past, and since the future is unknown, you can only circumstantially influence it. It is best to enjoy what you have now, isn’t it?”

Komaeda had been listening closely. His expression softened, but he still looked gloomy.

“I guess you’re right,” he said a little dubiously. “The idea is simple, yet the implementation is hard.”

They were the only ones remaining in the cafeteria at this point, and Komaeda still wasn’t showing any interest in using his spoon properly.

“Shall I see you to your ward?” Hajime offered. “I can also bring you some sweet tea. My own, not from here.”

“Is it okay for me to have it?” Komaeda looked confused.

“Yeah. A little sugar won’t hurt, and it’s green tea. It vitalizes and–”

“I mean, isn’t it troublesome?”

They both stood up, facing each other. Hajime sighed rather light-heartedly.

“It’s fine,” he promised. “So, let’s go?”

As they walked down the lobby, Komaeda leaned closer to Hajime. Their shoulders pressed together, and Hajime jerked his head to the side: if Komaeda fainted in the middle of the entrance hall, his father’s inspections would be even more ruthless.

“What is it?” he asked, slowing down his pace.

“Nothing.”

The sun gleamed through Komaeda’s semi-transparent hair and skin, illuminating them.

“Hajime,” he muttered, “can you hold my hand?”

“Sure.”

Hajime complied, taking it in a firm grasp; icy fingers laced through his own and gently rubbed the back of his hand.

“Can you walk alright now?” Hajime asked. Sweat was welling up his temples and sliding down, making his face hot.

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Komaeda murmured. “I just wanted to feel you. It’s... nice.”

And oddly enough, it really was nice. A little slick, but Hajime found himself not hating it. On the opposite, Komaeda’s palm warmed up against his and felt comfortable. Natural, even. As much as it could be for two grown men, one a doctor and the other his patient. No, it was most of all weird. But so... nice.

As they were reaching the third floor, Komaeda stated his willingness to visit the bathroom, and Hajime insisted on accompanying him. Even though Komaeda had gained some trust in his eyes, Hajime was still reluctant to let him go anywhere on his own.

Their hands unlocked – Hajime wiped his sweaty palm on his pants. They entered the bathroom, discussing the best snack to go with green tea: Komaeda was suggesting mochi, and Hajime was about to approve- but then froze in ghastly fear at the sight that unwrapped before his eyes. He gasped, instinctively reaching to Komaeda, who reached back.

From the iron pipe beneath the shabby ceiling, a limp body was hanging like a gruesome ghost. Hajime cried out; the body was motionless, and he didn’t dare to come closer. Long dark hair covered the face, but the frame was a petite one of a girl.

Unmoving, Hajime watched in terror as Komaeda approached the body and felt for the pulse.

“She’s dead,” he stated casually as if speaking about the weather. “Hanged herself, it seems.”

Urgent steps rose in the hall, and the next moment Nekomaru and Tsumiki were inside, pushing Komaeda away from the corpse. Hajime’s vision was blurry; he sat in the corner with his arms wrapped around his knees. He distantly heard Tsumiki weeping, Nekomaru shouting something. Komaeda, who Hajime noticed to be sitting by his side, laughed brokenly.

“Damn it, Ibuki...” The laughter was escalating, hindering his words. “Got it first, didn’t she. What bad–”

Hajime grabbed Komaeda by the collar: the latter kept roaring hysterically, and tears were streaming down his face. Hajime tried to suppress his own outburst by shaking him out of it, as if by bringing Komaeda to his senses he would bring himself to his own.

 

*******

 

They kept Komaeda in the isolation ward for a month after Mioda’s suicide. He’d become so unstable that this confinement was obligatory: he’d cut his wrists twice and would’ve certainly bled out the second time if Hajime hadn’t stumbled into him.

Though not only Komaeda was unstable. Hajime concentrated on his remaining patients and kept noticing their fluctuating behavioral patterns.

Nanami often put her console aside and stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. Hajime had made several attempts to distract her with books, movies, music – all to no avail. She barely ate, and a couple of times Hajime had to feed her himself. One time she threw up on his lap, and he gave up the idea.

Kuzuryu was, on the opposite, nervously restless. He barely slept; it seemed impossible for him to loose any more weight, but he did. On the bright side, he started to take walks and speak openly with Hajime.

And today as well, having tried to grasp Nanami’s attention and failed, Hajime sat down on Komaeda’s empty bed and took a deep breath.

“Chiaki ate an apple yesterday,” said Kuzuryu reassuringly. “Half an apple, actually.”

“That’s something.” Hajime nodded. “What about you? Slept well?”

“I passed out when the sun was already rising. I’m alright now.”

“What did you think about when you couldn’t sleep?”

Kuzuryu glanced to the side and frowned. Hajime could guess his reply, but the inquiry wasn’t for himself: Kuzuryu needed to speak up about his problem, or it would never go away.

“About Peko, again,” he uttered, not looking at Hajime. “I remembered when we were kids. We used to walk and play together a lot; she often beat me up with that wooden sword of hers.” Kuzuryu laughed bitterly under Hajime’s solemn gaze. “When we were so little, I couldn’t have imagined that it would ever end.”

“Even though she’s gone, you still have these memories of her,” said Hajime. He was tired and peered fixedly at the spot in front of him; despite the automatism of his speech, the words somehow arose from within him and flowed naturally. “These memories cannot be taken from you. The truth is, Fuyuhiko, that you are the corroboration of her past existence. And through you, Peko keeps existing in this world, in the form of your mind.”

“Memories aren’t very reliable,” Kuzuryu noted. “One day I can’t recall even her face, but the other I have scenes of the past replayed clearly in my mind.”

“And this is the proof. The moment when you remember her clearly – this is the plain truth.”

And oddly enough, Hajime too believed in what he’d said. He left the ward with a sense of accomplishment, and when he lined up in the cafeteria next to Tsumiki, he gave her a soothing pat.

“How have you been?” he asked her. Dark bags below Tsumiki’s eyes indicated exhaustion and stress.

“I’m okay,” she uttered, a little maudlin.

Hajime patted her back. He still couldn’t forget how badly she whimpered at Mioda’s funeral.

They ate in silence sometimes interrupted by Hajime’s reports on Nanami’s and Kuzuryu’s states. Tsumiki only nodded, hardly touching her patties and rice.

“Oh,” she gasped as they both were about to leave. “Komaeda has been looking for you.”

Hajime’s brow quirked.

“He’s released?”  

“Yep. He was resting in the yard some twenty minutes ago. Maybe he’s still there.”

Hajime couldn’t really explain what made him hurry to the yard so much. He didn’t even wash his hands after the meal.

It was a serene day, neither sunny nor rainy; the clouds were extended across the leaden sky and unmoving due to the lack of wind. Komaeda was sitting under a willow tree with his eyes closed, a crow resting on his knee. When Hajime approached, the bird met his eyes, croaked and swiftly took wing.

Hajime watched Komaeda for a while, debating whether to shake him up or not. But it wasn’t necessary: Komaeda slowly opened his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” muttered Hajime.

He hesitated to sit next to Komaeda, but the latter beckoned him with a soft pat on the grass.

“So... how was it?”

“Boring.” Komaeda smiled. “I hate boring.”

“I’m sorry,” forced out Hajime.

“Oh, please.”

Komaeda let out a stiff chuckle, and for a moment Hajime dreaded a recurrence of the laughter fit. It didn’t follow.

“I thought about a lot of things in there.”

Komaeda looked up at the sky. They sat close enough for Hajime to notice that even his eyelashes were pearly grey.  

“I thought of all the misfortunes I’ve ever experienced. Still can’t remember the origin, whether it was my bad luck or good luck. And I thought of you.”

He turned, and his gaze lingered on Hajime’s face. Then, as suddenly, he turned away.

“You’ve been altering my luck,” Komaeda uttered gravely. “When I jumped off the roof, I wasn’t hurt – that was supposed to cancel out my bad luck. But right after that, you found me. You turned the flow backwards.”

“It was just circumstances,” said Hajime.

“From your point of view, yes. From mine, it’s pure luck. A coincidence.” He paused. His hands fell to the ground, limp as if lifeless. “The balance was broken, and it’s beyond repair. It’s partially your fault… for the most part it is. I put my hopes in you, but now I’m...”

Komaeda trailed off, and Hajime leaned a little closer, just in case he’d make a dangerous move.

“I don’t know.” Komaeda sighed. “It just doesn’t add up. A whole month in that lockup I tried to come to hate you. I succeeded a couple of times, but it didn’t last. I missed you more often than hated you.”

There was uneasy heaviness in Hajime’s chest; he frowned at the realization of his initial mistake. The professionalism he’d tried to sustain never was there in Komaeda’s case. From the very beginning, Komaeda recognized him as an equal, and his entire demeanor didn’t suggest a master-subordinate relationship. In that regard, it was all Hajime’s fault indeed.

He was trying to come up with anything to justify himself but couldn’t. There was no argument capable of fixing it. Komaeda’s possible recovery was ruined by Hajime’s own hands; an apology wouldn’t make up for it. Anything he could say or do at this point wouldn’t make up for it. Hajime stared Komaeda in the eye, helpless, seeking for solution and finding none.

“You’re funny,” said Komaeda, although he didn’t look amused. “If my feelings are such a nuisance that you have to make a face–”

“It’s not that!” Hajime argued, and the next thing he knew was that Komaeda leaned in and held his head, kissing him fiercely. Hajime’s eyes widened as he felt a tongue forcing its way into his mouth; his arms went numb, he couldn’t breathe, there was a sudden twist of something soft, something that clicked within him. He didn’t know why, but he felt relaxed and… nice.

Before Hajime could process it, he was lying on the grass with Komaeda on top of him. Tenderness and excitement washed over him, and his hands slid up Komaeda’s middle on their own accord, reaching his back and clutching it. But then his mind followed, and he snapped out of it.

“Um–” Hajime mumbled, propping himself on his elbows. Komaeda leaned away, watching him with a blank expression.

“I can’t hate you even now,” he said with a hint of sorrow in his voice, and smiled.

Hajime stood up and offered him a hand. Komaeda took it and didn’t let go even when he got to his feet. Hajime didn’t mind.

 

*******

 

A little more than a week remained of Hajime’s practice. He was sick of paper work, sick of hospital reek, but things were returning to order. He’d managed to whip Nanami into shape, and she began eating again. More often than not he saw her with her console. Kuzuryu was on the mend too: he read, walked, even jogged with Nekomaru from time to time. Hajime assumed he would be discharged soon.

Komaeda seemed peaceful. He rarely left his ward these days and slept much better. Once or twice Hajime even witnessed a blush on his pale face when they strolled in the yard hand in hand. He knew he’d miss these quiet walks.

“You’ve been a lot of help,” Tsumiki told him over lunch. “I haven’t seen them all so relaxed in a long while. Good job.”

“It’s nothing,” Hajime lied out of politeness.

After lunch he went to 37110 and found Komaeda lying in his bed and wistfully observing the crows outside. Nanami and Kuzuryu still had to be hanging around the cafeteria because their beds were empty, so Hajime sat on the edge of Kuzuryu’s. He took Komaeda’s hand between his own and Komaeda turned to him with a weak smile.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to see you before everyone’s back.”

“I’m honored that you’re willing to see trash like me,” said Komaeda, sounding far less sardonic than he’d intended.

Hajime placed a brief kiss upon his knuckles.

“Did you dream of anything?”

“Yeah.” Komaeda closed his eyes. He spoke slowly. “There was a field full of anemones. Thousands of white flowers as far as an eye can see. They were beautiful, and I kept walking among them until I was tired.”

“And then?”

“Then I lay down to have some rest. The sky was clear above me. I don’t remember anything else.”

Hajime squeezed his hand and released it.

“Such a nice dream. You were lucky to find that field.”

“I was.”

Komaeda fell silent, and Hajime just sat by his side and listened to his breath. He found himself dozing off, awakened by a shuffling of feet in the hall.

“I should go,” he said and caressed Komaeda’s cheek.

Komaeda didn’t respond, but when Hajime stood up to go, he clasped his wrist in a faint hold and tugged him closer.

“Hajime,” he said, barely audible. “I’m happy I’ve met you.”

“I’m happy, too.”

 

*******

 

Rain was pouring outside. Hajime was standing in his office and eyeing his own reflection in the mirror. His once brown hair had gone completely white.

Tears had been stuck in his throat since early morning when he came to learn that Komaeda was found dead in his own bed. Heart failure, they said. He’d passed away, smiling.

Tsumiki stopped behind him and put her hand onto his shoulder. Hajime couldn’t bring himself to stroke it and avoided her dreary look in the mirror.

The crows were gone from the yard. Nanami and Kuzuryu brought him an umbrella while he was sitting on the wet grass beneath the willow.

Pain lurked in Kuzuryu’s eyes. Hajime knew they didn’t need to exchange words and was grateful for it. Nanami was wearing a little uncharacteristical frown as she bent to give him a light hug.

After a week, Hajime completed his practice and promised himself that he would never become a psychiatrist. He was going to drop off the university and do some simple job. Perhaps gardening, he wasn’t sure. He was sure about one thing: his memory of Komaeda would never fade and would remain the corroboration of his existence deep within his heart.


End file.
